


All Your Demons

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural, destiel - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Demon Cure, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post season 9 finale, Season 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 13:40:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1985013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Go take a howl at that moon..."</p><p>Dean's a demon, Cas is MIA and Sam doesn't know what to do.<br/>Well, there is one thing- the demon cure.<br/>But will it work on a knight of hell?</p><p>Post Season 9 finale</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You son of a bitch,” Sam growled as he lit a match and threw it onto the bowl holding everything needed to summon Crowley.  He angrily wiped away the last of his tears as he stood and waited, fists clenched tightly by his sides, teeth gritted in anticipation.

In the blink of an eye, Crowley stood before him.   
"Sam," he greeted, face unreadable and voice giving away nothing.   
"You-" Sam began, and was briefly unable to continue, his voice catching in his throat, thick with anger and grief. He swallowed heavily and tried again.  
"Fix it." He said, simply, "Anything: take anything, just fix this. You owe us- this was all you." Sam tried not to think of Dean’s bludgeoned face, bloody and void of life.  His limp, lifeless body left lying on the bed in his room, alone. He closed his eyes, attempting to block the ugly, violent images that now plagued his mind.  
"It's all you fault so you are going to fix it, or I swear to god..." Sam left the threat open ended, Crowley was well aware of all the things Sam could do to him- the various forms of torture that Sam had at his disposal.  Whether it would be enough, Sam could only hope. 

  
Crowley surveyed him for several long moments, eyes boring into Sam; calculating and shrewd.   
When he finally spoke, Sam was surprised by the response he received. If anything, he expected a sarcastic retort of some sort, but not just: "I can't."   
Sam blanched."No," he growled back, threateningly. "You will do this, I don't care what it takes, _you_ will bring him back!" He shouted in fury.   
"Sam," Crowley cut him off in a level tone, not raising his own voice and his eyes still revealing nothing, "it's not that I won't, it’s that I _can't_. I cann _ot_ do anything." He explained, placating, voice calm in an attempt to not rouse Sam up even further.

  
"What the hell are you talking about?" Sam questioned, opening and closing his hands, flexing the fingers he longed to wrap around Crowley's throat.      
Crowley looked away from Sam for the first time since Sam summoned him.    
When he spoke, his voice was so quite, Sam almost missed it from the loud ringing building in his ears.

"I can't bring him back Sam... Because he's not dead."   
Sam didn't remember deciding to cross the line of the pentagram, didn’t remember thinking about how he was going to tare Crowley apart or anything else Crowley spoke.   
All he remembered was the white hot rage that was ripping through his chest.   
How dare he?  
 _How dare he!_  
One of Sam's hands gripped the front of Crowley's shirt; the other he drew back in a fist and proceeded to connect it with the bridge of Crowley's nose with as much force as he could muster. There was a sickening crunching noise and Sam hardly missed a beat before pulling his fist back to do it again.  
He beat every inch of Crowley’s body he could reach; finally able to make to let out all his pent up frustration  
Sam felt a sweet satisfaction about being able to make someone feel as much pain as he felt at the moment. He felt so good he didn't even notice Crowley's lack of defence. Even in the devils trap, with all of his powers removed Crowley would still be able to defend himself and fight back against Sam. But he didn't. He didn't fight back or even lift an arm to cover his face.   
Sam’s knuckles and arm screamed in protest, as he continued to pummel Crowley into oblivion, his own blood congealing with Crowley's on his fist.  A swift knee to Crowley's stomach caused the King of Hell to collapse to the floor with a loud ‘ _oof!_

 Sam was about to go back in for more, but just as he lifted Crowley by the collar and raised his fist for one last punch, he heard shuffling from behind him.

"Enough," a voice growled. Sam's fist froze in its position: pulled back behind his head, and read to sink back into the swollen flesh under Crowley's eye. Sam looked down at Crowley, confused once more. He hadn't said anything, Sam hadn't seen his mouth move. Anyway, the voice hadn't sounded much like Crowley's infuriating drawl.   
"Enough, Sam." The voice said again. It definitely wasn’t Crowley.  
That had come from behind him. Sam let go of the front of Crowley's jacket, and he dropped heavily to the floor with an unpleasant sounding _thunk_. Sam stood and turned slowly to face the sourse of the voice

A sick feeling rose up in Sam’s stomach as he faced the entrance of the room.

"Dean?" Sam panted heavily, trying to stop the bile rising in his throat.  
Dean stood framed in the doorway, the light from behind casting a shadow across his face. Dean neither moved nor spoke.   
Sam was frozen in place, not even twitching when there was a scuffling noise from Crowley as he groggily sat up and disappeared from the bunker with a click of his fingers. In their fight, or Sam's outburst, the painted line of the devils trap had been scuffed and thus the pentagram had been broken, allowing Crowley to escape. Not that Sam cared any longer.   
The two brothers stood still and quite for a long time, each studying the other, caught in a silent stalemate.   
Sam was unable to comprehend what he was seeing.   
Not much more than an hour ago he had held his brother as he had died bloody in his arms once more. Sam didn't dare think about the amount of times that had happened, but he really had thought that this was the last time, no matter what empty promises he made to Dean.   
He had clutched hold of him as he watched the life leave his eyes, feeling the warm, sticky blood cool beneath his fingers as he had pressed down onto the fatal wound. He had _felt_ him breathe his last breath.  
How could he be standing before him now?  
Sam's hands had begun shaking; he hadn’t noticed when.   
He swallowed heavily.  
"Dean?" He asked again, voice cracking and mouth dry.   
Dean nodded once and that was all the push Sam needed to stride across the room pulling his brother close to him, wrapping his arms tightly around his shoulders, the blood on his hands mingling with the material of Dean’s jacket.   
Dean stood stiffly in his brother’s embrace and it was a long moment before he raised one arm and patted Sam on the back swiftly, his touch not lingering.   
Sam pulled back, holding Dean by his shoulders at arm’s length. He peered into his brother’s face, which was curiously blank and still partially enveloped in shadow.   
"Dean what happened?" He asked finally.

  
Dean didn’t answer; instead he just shook his head solemnly, before roughly pulling himself out of Sam’s grasp and turning away.  Sam scrunched his brow together and opened his mouth to say something- _anything_ \- but before he got the chance, Dean was already stalking away from him.

  
"Dean?"   Sam called after him confused and, if he was being honest, a little hurt.  
He didn't look back.   
"Dean!" Sam strode after him, the feeling of sickness rising in his stomach again, his breath becoming shallow from nerves. Dean didn’t stop walking or bother to acknowledge Sam.

   
 _What the hell was going on?_

“Dean, would you just stop?” Sam said in frustration, Dean still not turning around.

Dean stopped walking but did not face Sam. Sam stood behind his brother, agitatedly waiting for any response.

He should be freakin’ jumping with joy that Dean was even alive right now, not chasing after him to try and get a single word from him, worried out of his mind.  The sinking feeling in his chest was getting worse and worse as the silence wore on.  Then finally Dean spoke.

“I-” Dean’s voice crack as his sentence faltered, “I can’t.”

“What?” Sam asked in panicked confusion.

“I can’t explain.” He rasped, “And I can’t stay here. I’ve got to go.” Dean’s voice lost any emotion it had had moments before.

Sam was hit with a sudden bout of exhaustion. He had just lost his brother only to get him back again and then potentially loose him once more all within the span of a few hours. He had gone through every possible emotion there was on the entire spectrum, from fear to despair to anger then relief and then to confusion and then back through them all over again.  

“Please Dean,” his voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper. He didn’t think he had the strength left to fight for his brother, but he didn’t think he could handle losing him either.

Sam saw Dean’s head turn slightly and his shoulders fall from their defensive stance to one of defeat.

“Sam, you don’t understand. I can’t stay with you here. It’d be better for you if I _was_ dead.” He said in a flat voice.

Sam felt his face heat up and his eyes sting as tears began to build up again. “How can you say that?” He asked in disbelief. “Just tell me what happened Dean! I can’t understand if you don’t explain!”Dean didn’t answer, just continued to stand there, tense and stiff, hands clenched tightly at his sides.

Sam felt a hot anger bubbling inside him, “When has keeping things from each other ever worked? You died Dean! I saw you die! And now you’re standing in front of me and you want me to just ignore that?” Sam dragged a hand through his hair, pulling on it in his rage. 

“And if I said that; that _you’d_ be better off if _I_ were dead? Would you accept it? Just let me walk away?” Sam let out an exasperated growl, he was as thankful as hell his brother was still alive, don’t think he wasn’t, but everything about this was just _wrong_.  

“And why won’t you just turn around and face me?” Sam shouted. He strode over and caught Dean roughly by his shoulder and forced him around.

It seemed in that moment, everything froze. Sam stood rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak.

Dean looked at him, face blank and jaw clenched firmly as he waited for Sam’s reaction.  

Sam swallowed heavily, mouth suddenly dry, and let his hand fall from Dean’s shoulder. He didn’t move away, just leaned back from Dean slightly. The intensity of Dean’s stare was strong, but Sam refused to be spooked by it. He stared back resolutely into Dean’s black eye’s, unblinking and unsettling. Sam had seen demon eyes hundreds of times in his past, but he had never been truly this scared of them before.

And then the full force of reality slammed in to Sam as he snapped back to his senses. He lurched away from Dean, falling into his defensive stance.

“ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,”_ Sam began to chant. Dean flinched away from him, but not in the way most demons usually did when he started throwing Latin at them. Sam kept backing away from him, cursing himself for not keeping the demon-killing knife on him.

“ _Omnis satanica potestas,”_

_“_ Sam!” Dean shouted over the top of his brother’s voice

_“ -omnis incursion-”_

“Sam, it’s still me!” Dean said, advancing on his brother, the words of the exorcism rolling off him without having the slightest effect.

“ _infernalis adversarii-_ You black eyed son of a bitch, what the fuck have you done to my brother!” Sam yelled back, hands curling into a fist, pulling it back to punch the bastard that had possessed his brother’s corpse- could demons even _do_ that?

Dean stopped walking towards Sam, hands raised in surrender, “Woah, woah, ok Sam.”

_“_ _omnis legio,”_ Sam continued, _“omnis congregatio et secta diabolica...”_ He faltered as Dean stood before him, completely unfased by the rest of the Latin spell.

“It’s not working Sam. You know it’s not.” Dean said calmly.

_“What are you_?” Sam asked, voice a low growl.

“Me, Sam, it’s... It’s still me.” Dean said, but Sam didn’t know if the demon was trying to convince Sam or _himself_ of that fact. Sam continued to glare at this... _Thing_. It couldn’t be his brother! It wasn’t possible, except- How would a demon even get into the bunker? The only way demons could get in was if they were summoned, and Sam sure as hell hadn’t done that... But that meant that this really was- or at least had _once_ been- Dean.

“How,” Sam finally croaked out, “how did it happen?”

Dean shook his head, sighing. “I don’t know,” He said with a small shrug.

“Dean, how can you not know?” Sam said, shaking his head in disbelief, anger slowly ebbing away and morphing into small fluttering of panic in the pit of his stomach.  

Dean glared at Sam, one hand absently drifting to his lower arm just above the mark and gripping it tightly.

“What have you done?” Sam said quietly, not really asking Dean, instead staring accusingly at  the angry red scar, that had undoubtedly started all of this mess, was.

Dean tugged his sleeve jacket down forcefully to cover the mark. 

“I don’t know what’s happened to me Sam. I should have died and I don’t know how I didn’t. I really thought this would be it. The last time I’d do this; the last thing I’d fight for, to risk my life for.” Dean paused, his mouth contorting into an angry sneer, “But Cain said it’d come with a price.” He trailed a finger over his forearm, where Sam knew the scar was. “I guess this is it.”

Sam turned away, breathing deeply, trying to clear his head. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. This couldn’t be happening.   _How were they supposed to fix this_? 

Numerous thoughts and scenarios ran through Sam’s mind as he tried to work everything out in his head to try and come up with some sort of explanation to what was happening.

After a while, he heard Dean’s footsteps retreating as he left the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam made his way up to the main area of the bunker and set down heavily at the table, with one question plaguing his mind; _How could he help Dean?_ Because it _was_ Dean; Dean was still in there and he couldn’t give up on him.

He looked at the room around him, full of books, papers and records. It was more than they’d ever had before. Surely there could be something here that could help Dean?

Sam stood and walked over to some of the shelves filled with books.

He knew what he could do to help Dean; _Research_. Well, it was at least a start.

 After several hour of looking through books, deciphering languages he’d never seen before, rereading the notes they’d already compiled and rooting through old artefacts and records from the men of letters, Sam walked tentatively to Dean’s room. He hadn’t heard Dean leave the bunker, so where else could he be?

Sam knocked twice before letting himself into the room without waiting for a reply.

Dean sat on the edge of his bed, facing away from the door. His shoulders were hunched over and he didn’t turn when Sam entered the room.

“Have you been in here all this time?” Sam asked bluntly.

Dean grunted in reply.

Sam walked around the bed and pulled the lone chair tucked under the desk to around to face Dean. He sat down opposite Dean, clearing his throat to get Dean to look over at him, as he was resolutely ignoring Sam, instead staring down at his hands which were fidgeting in his lap.

“Dean,” Sam snapped after a while, getting irritated by being so blatantly ignored.

Sam could see Dean clench his jaw, even from this angle, before he looked up.

During the few hours Sam had left him for, Dean had clearly worked out how to switch his eyes to their normal shade of fresh green, as when Dean looked up they were not longer a piercing black. But they were not what they were like before. Something was still different in his stare, but Sam couldn’t quite work out what.

  Dean didn’t make eye contact with Sam, instead staring off slightly to Sam’s right, but Sam still took this as his queue to speak.

“We’re going to fix this, Dean.” Sam saw Dean opening his mouth to interrupt, but cut him off before he managed to say anything.

“We’re going to treat this like any other case. We’ll research, find out all the lore about Abel and Cain, and then we’ll find what can cure this. Or at least figure out how to handle this-whatever _this_ is.”   Sam’s eyes were shining with a fierce determination, his voice defiant and strong and his face set.

Dean shook his head, “Sam, if you think Cain couldn’t find away to fix this over one thousand years, so if you think-”

Sam cut across Dean, “No. No Dean.  Because I am not going to stop until I can help you. I am- _we_ \- are going to fix this.”

Dean clenched his fist, “And how many times has this worked in the past, Sam?” Dean said, voice rising with his temper. “Did researching stop me going to hell? Stop Lucifer rising, or kill him? Get you out of the pit? Every time, we always say we’ll figure something out, but we _never_ do! It’s always something else, something bigger than us. We never do this alone, and we won’t be able to this time either.”

“If that’s what it takes, finding someone else, then we’ll do it.” Sam said, eyes prickling and mouth drawn into a thin line.

 “And who do you think will help us?” Dean asked. “God?” He began to list them, counting on his fingers, “Because he’s been so much help so far. The angels? I’m an abomination now Sam, and you still are. Crowley? He got us into this mess Sam, and he sure as hell ain’t getting us out!” He paused, before adding bitterly, “Everyone who could help us is dead or has wiped themselves off the map.”

“Cas,” Sam said, so quietly that Dean almost missed it.

“What?” Dean asked, voice low and dangerous.

“Cas.” Sam said louder, sitting up straighter in the chair.

Dean began to laugh. It was a cold, emotionless laugh with no mirth but thick with cynicism. “He can’t help himself, Sam! How the hell is he going to help us?” He snorted scathingly. “He’s done anyway, practically burnt himself out fighting Metatron. And where the hell is the guy anyway?” Dean looked around the room pointedly, “For all we know he blew himself out trying to stop the big little guy.” Dean folded his arms, “He’s dead or hell near as. Either way, hes’ no use to us.”

 *   *   *

Sam closed Dean’s door shut behind him. He didn’t care what Dean had to say, he was going to find something to cure him, or at least help.

Sam leaned against the cold wall of the corridor, closing his eyes and listening to the heavy silence.

_‘Cas,’_ Sam prayed. He hoped Cas would be able to hear him with his stolen grace.

‘ _Cas, you need to be here. Something’s happened and we don’t know what to do... We need your advice more than ever. Please Cas, this is bad._ ’

Sam looked around him, half expectant; half knowing it was of no real use. But there was nothing.

Sighing heavily, Sam pushed himself away from the wall. He began to walk back to the research he had abandoned earlier, already feeling weary at the prospect. Sam shook his head, mentally resigning himself to the fact that this was something they, or at least Sam, were going to have to do by themselves.

   *   *   *

The door clicked closed behind Sam, but Dean didn’t listen to hear if his footsteps walked away. He flopped down onto the bed and stared up at the blank white ceiling above.

_Cas,_ he thought.

Was there any point?  He wouldn’t know how to save Dean, even if he was still alive. _Was_ he even still alive?

Dean closed his eyes. There wasn’t any harm in trying, really. He wasn’t expecting Cas to hear, so he wouldn’t be hurt if Cas didn’t respond. Hell, maybe the angel really was dead. But would Dean even care if he was?

_Cas is dead._

Dean waited to see if there was any familiar sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach, or a rising sickness that felt like there was fire trapped inside him, fighting to get out. The swooping of his life falling apart inside of him. The feeling he felt each time he saw someone he loved die. How he felt each time he saw Cas die.

_Huh_. 

Dean didn’t even feel guilty about not feeling anything.

Then he realised he didn’t care. He didn’t care if Cas was alive or dead. Didn’t care if he would come or not. Dean considered he’d be a bit pissed off if Cas ignored him, but really what did it matter? He and Sam had managed without angels before, and Dean was _definitely_ not the sort of person- well, demon- who had to rely on others to fix his own messes.

_If it’s your mess, you should clean it he_ thought, remembering all the times Cas had had to come crawling back to Sam and himself because he couldn’t deal with his own problems.

Dean cleared his throat. But, he should try- for Sam.

“Cas,” he said gently under his breath. He felt foolish; what if there was no one there to pray to and he was just talking to himself? Shaking his head to clear away the embarrassment, Dean tried again.

“Cas,” Dean said flatly. “Cas, if you’re out there, I- We need your help. Sam needs your help. He’s pretty screwed up right now.” Dean paused, unsure of what to say next. “And what happened, man? Did you get him? Don’t just leave us out to dry, we wanted that bastard dead just as much as you. So, I suppose, anytime you feel like showing your de-feathered ass would be great.”

Dean sat up on his bed, kicking his feet over the edge, deciding to pack it in. _Angels man_ , he thought grumpily. W _hat was the point in them?_


	3. Chapter 3

Dean Winchester is dead.

_Dean Winchester is dead._

Cas excused himself from the other angels, not being able to hear what they were saying over the sudden ringing building in his ears. He stumbled his way through the crowd of excitable angels, who were all so excited that they finally had the chance to get their home back.

But, really, what did that even matter at this point?  Nothing mattered now-as far as Castiel was concerned.  What was the point when Dean Winchester-the righteous man- was gone? Gone to where Cas could no longer reach him. This was something he couldn’t fix, no matter how badly he wanted to.

Cas could hear Sam calling for him in the back of his mind, probably praying for Cas to try and do something, _anything._ But in his weak state, grace almost completely burnt out, Cas wouldn’t be of any use.  He couldn’t bring Dean back. The other angels wouldn’t do it either, not after Cas had so blatantly chosen him over them.

Cas needed to get away. Go anywhere, so long as it was away from here. Away from Metatron; who had destroyed the one person that Cas had ever _truly_ done right by.  Cas now wished, more than ever, that he still had his wings, so he could fly from all these angels, demons, monsters and _feelings_ that now plagued him.But, alas, all he could do was run.

 Cas used the portal in the playground to get back to Earth, pausing for only a moment to take in the children laughing and playing with each other.  So unaware that the whole world had come crashing down around them as there was no longer a righteous man fighting to protect them. He stood for a minute, stunned at the fact there could _still be_ laughter and joy, after all that had happened.  

He needed to get away, so he began to run. He didn’t know where he was going, and he ignored the confused stares he received and the irritated cries of _‘Watch it, buddy!_ ’ when he collided into the people that got into his way. Tears began to streak down his face and blur his sight.  Whether they were from the pent up anger and regret he was feeling or from the cool and unforgiving breeze, Cas didn’t know. He ignored them like he ignored everything and everyone else around him, not even noticing when they left dried tracks on his cheeks.

Cas found himself near a bus station. He didn’t even bother to see where it was heading.  It didn’t matter. 

As long as it was away from here.

  He boarded the first one that arrived, not once stopping to consider that he may not have money to pay for it, settling down in the back seat and staring blankly out of the window as the hours ticked by.

*  *   *

As the days past, Cas meandered across the country.  It was only when he had finally arrived, did he realise that he’d been heading to a specific place after all. It couldn’t really be called a destination, there was nothing there... Not any more, at least.

 

 A small cross stood; half buried by dusty earth and long, yellowing grass, the wood it was made of splintered and dried out by the constant heat and little rain. Any shade it would have had was gone; all the trees in the surrounding area had fallen years ago, most taken away but some still laying  dead and slowly rotting away to fine dust.

Most people wouldn’t be able to find this place, unless they were actually looking for it.  And if they found it, they would have no idea that this is the very same place where one Dean Winchester was resurrected to stop the Apocalypse.  The place Castiel had place his repaired soul and breathed life once more into the cold body.

Cas slumped to the ground, sitting heavily down on the soft, sandy soil. He pushed the long grass that had grown up and around the cross out of the way, so he could get a better look.

How many years ago was it that he had pulled Dean’s soul up from hell and dropped it off in this very spot?

His bruised and battered soul, that still glowed bright, even after all his time in hell.

Cas sat and stared at the cross for a long time. He never thought he would have to come back to this place. He thought, foolishly, that he would be able to keep Dean safe after he had rescued him. At least he would be able to reach heaven now, now that the gates were open once more.

A lone tear fell from Cas’ eye, mixing in with the dust and grime coating his face from the long journey here. 

He couldn’t stay away for much longer. His time was running out and there were still so many things that needed fixing.  So, wiping away the last of his tears, he stood, and with one last glance back at the grave that had once held a righteous man, he walked away.  He had work to do.

When he had finally made it back to civilization, he jacked the first deserted car he had come across. _God, he hated buses_.


	4. Chapter 4

The next week found Sam and Dean standing in one of the lesser used rooms in the bunker. A single lamp hanging from the ceiling illuminated the new additions to the once empty, room that included one dilapidated looking altar and an old and splintered crucifix that rested neatly on top of it.  
Dean was frowning at the altar, with a cynical look on his face.  
“Are you really sure that’s going to work?” He asked, sceptically. Sam sighed, having gone over this more than a few times, already.   
“Yes Dean! We found it in a church, which makes it a sacred artefact-“  
“Yeah, but stealing it probably-”   
“We didn’t steal it,” Sam interjected, “The church is condemned.” Pause. “I think.”   
“Well then, if it’s condemned, doesn’t that kinda’ defeat the purpose? It’s probably, like, unholy ground now or something.”  
“Things don’t just become unholy, Dean.” Sam said, looking over at him with an irritated expression.  
“Well, I don’t know!”  
“Dean!” Sam finally snapped, “You are the one who didn’t want to perform the ritual in an actual church, and the instructions clearly state that the ritual has to be performed on consecrated grounds, so this-” He exclaimed, gesturing to the altar- “Will have to do!”  
“Fine,” Dean huffed; looking more like a grumpy man-child than a newly proclaimed knight of hell.   
“It would be a safer bet to do it there, you know.” Sam ventured, carefully. This discussion had already sparked several shouting matches between the brothers, and Sam was not keen on starting another one.  
Dean shot him and angry glare, growling; “Shut-it, Sam.”   
“Ok, ok,” Sam placated, raising his hands in surrender. Really, all Dean had said was that he didn’t want to get cured in a place ‘like that’ and would prefer to do it in the bunker- ‘Nowhere else Sam!’ Sam wasn’t even really expecting Dean to go along with the whole ‘curing thing’ in the first place, so he was willing to compromise as long as he was allowed to do something. Even if it meant they had to steal- borrow- an altar from an (hopefully) abandoned church.  
“So, you’ve said the blessing?” Dean prompted, snapping Sam back to his senses.  
“Yeah,” Sam nodded, surveying their slightly slap-dash attempt at consecrated grounds. Sam had blessed the room with a passage he had found in their dads journal. He hoped it was enough.  
“And you’re sure it doesn’t have to be said by an actual priest?” Dean pressed.  
Sam hummed an affirmative. Well, actually he wasn’t sure, but from what he had gathered he hadn’t seen anything saying that the ritual absolutely had to be done by a priest. So, he was at least in the ballpark of sure; maybe around fifty percent.   
“And I went to have my blood purified yesterday-again-so that’s done too.” Sam said, mentally checking off the list of things they had to do in order for this to work. He really hoped that all the swearing and cursing he had been dueling out to his brother for the past few hours wasn’t enough to un-purify him.  
“That’s everything, I think.” Sam said, looking over to Dean, who nodded his agreement, “Now, uh, we just need to get you in the devils trap.” Sam added, with an apologetic look. Dean grimaced, and begrudgingly gestured for Sam to get on with it.  
Dean stood off to the side as Sam finished off the pentagram on the ground, throwing the now empty spray can to the side.  
“I don’t know if the trap is necessary,” Sam said, standing up and pacing around the circle to make sure there were no mistakes. “But that’s how it was done in the video, so, I guess just in case, right?” They had decided it was probably best to follow everything that Father Max Thompson had done in the video, regardless if it they deemed it necessary or not.   
Dean swallowed, nervously. “Don’t even know if the trap will work, but, hey.” He shrugged, not looking to convinced himself.  
“Alright-oh” he snapped his fingers together, “Hang on.” He walked into the next room and when he came back he was dragging a chair behind him. “You’ll be in here for a while, so better not forget this.”  
He stepped gingerly over the painted red line and placed the chair in the centre of the trap.   
“Right,” He left the trap and stood in front of Dean, who was obviously trying to put on a brave face, but Sam knew better.   
“I really hope this works, Dean.” Sam said, placing a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder.  
Dean nodded, not really looking at Sam, instead, choosing to focus on the lone chair that now sat in the center of the devils trap. Sam watched as his brother took a deep breath, preparing himself, before walking to the edge and hesitantly stepping into the trap. It was almost comical, how his eyes screwed up as if he expected to self-destruct within the next couple of seconds. He stood still for a minute, considering, before looking over to his brother and shrugging.   
“Don’t feel any different.” He said, moving to sit on the chair.   
“Hang on,” Sam said ,before Dean sat down, “You should probably check to see if you can get out, so we can tell if- when you’ve been cured.”   
Dean rolled his eyes and walked back to the edge of the trap, carefully raising his hand and reaching out in front of him. But before his hand could make it past the red line, his finger tips hit what seemed to be an invisible barrier. He frowned and then started to press harder, flattening his palm against it. Sam could see his hand whiten as Dean pushed against the repulsive force of the trap. Sam thought he saw a look of panic flash across his face. But just as soon as it was there, it was gone, instead replaced with a look of, what seemed to be forced nonchalance. “Huh,” Dean remarked, “would you look at that.” He turned and walked swiftly back to the chair and sat down.   
“Ok,” Sam muttered under his breath, “so the trap works.”  
“Hey,” Dean said looking over to him, pointing an accusatory finger, “No getting any ideas if this doesn’t work!”  
Sam chuckled slightly and forced a grin, even though he didn’t find the situation funny in the least. “Right, no funny business. Promise.”   
Sam proceeded to pull a syringe out from one of his pockets, and held it up to flick it a couple of times. He crossed the line of the trap and went to stand next to Dean.  
“Round one,” Sam breathed out, nervously, holding the syringe full of dark red liquid next to Dean’s neck, “here goes nothing...”  
* * *  
It had been six hours since they had begun the ritual, and Dean still hadn’t moved an inch from the trap. There was a small drop of blood on the side of his neck from the tiny puncture wound the needle had left, but other than that, nothing new.  
“Apparently around now a change is supposed to be visible,” Sam said, as he pierced Dean’s neck once again and injected his blood.   
Dean gritted his teeth and sat very still, not saying anything until the needle was removed.   
“I don’t feel any different,” He admitted, looking up at Sam. Dean flexed his fingers and gripped the edge of the chair, tightly.   
“Well, two more doses and we’ll know for sure.” Sam said, trying to sound confident. Last time he had performed this-when they had tried to cure Crowley-the results were actually pretty evident, even though they never actually finished... But with Dean, so far, there was nothing.   
“Well, see you in an hour then,” Dean said, dismissively, leaning back into the chair, repositioning himself.   
“Dean, I don’t mind waiting down here with you,” Sam replied, sincerely.  
“Nah, you’ve been down here for ages, and honestly, you look like crap. Go and get some sleep or something. I’ll be fine.” Dean assured, with a shrug, “It’s not like I’m exactly going anywhere.” He added.  
Sam nodded, running a hand through his hair. He’d hardly left Dean’s side for the past six hours, besides the occasional bathroom break. Apparently, it was starting to show. He knew he had bags under his eyes and God only knows what his hair looked like at the moment.  
“Ok, well, I’ll be back down in a bit.” He said, still uncertain about leaving Dean by himself.  
“Go.” Dean urged, noticing his hesitance.   
With a small grimace of apology, Sam left.   
Dean let out a long breath after he heard Sam’s footsteps fade away. Rolling his shoulders and flexing his arms, he stood from the chair and stretched. Now that Sam wasn’t watching his every move like a freakin’ hawk, he felt more at ease. He wandered over to the edge of the trap. Sam had drawn it pretty large, so that Dean had room to walk around and stretch his legs.   
Dean had expected the trap and Sam’s blood to at least have some effect on him, make him feel weaker, less powerful, but... They didn’t. Dean tentatively pressed his hand against the invisible force of the trap again. He could feel it pushing back against his hand, trying to push him away. The harder he forced his hand against it, the stronger the invisible barrier seemed to become.   
Dean sighed, and traced the invisible wall with his fingertips, walking around the trap. He still felt so strong. Invincible. He itched to be out; out of the trap, out of the bunker, just-away.   
Away from Sam, if that’s what it took. He wanted to be doing something, anything... But Sam had his heart set on trying to ‘cure’ Dean... Though, if Dean was honest with himself, he couldn’t help thinking; maybe it wasn’t so bad, him being like this. He felt fine, in fact he felt great. He hadn’t felt this well in a long time; and he didn’t want this feeling taken away from him just yet. Dean yearned to out of here, and he suddenly felt extremely claustrophobic.   
Without thinking about what he was doing, Dean drew back his fist and punched the barrier of the trap.  
That felt good.   
He did it again, and again, and again.  
Dean panted, trying to regain control over himself; he picked up the chair and threw it against the barrier, causing it to break into pieces as it hit the wall at the far side of the room  
He was caught off guard with the thought that Sam felt less like a brother at the moment and more like a captor. He was keeping Dean here against his will, whether he knew that’s what he was doing or not.   
But-no, he couldn’t blame Sam. Dean would have done the same if it were Sam in his place. Sam said he couldn’t lose him again. He couldn’t leave Sam.  
But, the more he thought about it, no matter how far he dug down in himself, he just couldn’t...feel it. That protectiveness over Sam that had been ingrained in him since he was just a young boy-it didn’t feel like it was there anymore, and he felt...relieved.  
Dean passed the rest of the time trying not to think.


	5. Chapter 5

“Ok, last one,” Sam said nervously. “You ready?”

Dean nodded, gritting his teeth once more and waited for the now familiar sting of the needle.

Dean closed his eyes as Sam pulled the needle slowly from his skin, and listened to Sam saying the words that held so much promise.

_"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Hanc animam redintegra, lustra! Lustra!"_

Sam recited, hands shaking as he reached for his knife, slicing the blade across his palm. Red blood blossomed from the cut, pooling onto his hand. Sam paused, watching the thick liquid ooze all over his hand, watching as a drop dripped between his fingers and splashed to the floor.  Without another word, Sam placed his cut palm to Dean’s mouth, praying to anything out there who might be listening that this would work.

He held his breath and waited. His eyes were screwed up to protect them against the bright white flash that _should_ follow.

There was no flash.

Not even a spark.

Sam cracked one eye open, looking down at Dean, who also had his eyes held tightly shut.

“Dean?” Sam croaked; voice hoarse from nerves.

Dean opened his eyes and looked up at Sam expectantly.

“Mmmmfpphm?” He said, his voice muffled from Sam’s hand.

Sam pulled his hand away, leaving a smear of blood around Dean’s mouth. Dean lifted his arm and whipped it away on the back of his sleeve, asking again, more clearly, “Did it work?”

“I don’t know,” Sam replied, quietly, doubt weighing heavily on him. “Only one way to check.” He gestured with his uncut hand for Dean to try and leave the trap.

Dean walked to the edge and then very slowly reached forwards once more, and waved his hand over the line.

Dean’s hand stopped dead, right behind the red line.

Dean let his head fall forward, forehead resting on his hands as he placed his palms flat onto the force holding him in his cage.

Sam threw the knife he was still holding down on the ground in frustration, the clatter echoing loudly across the empty room.

Sam strode out of the trap, scuffing his heal forcefully against the red line to break it. Dean stepped out across the now broken circle, breathing a sigh of relief.

Sam pursed his lips, looking around the room. Had something gone wrong with the ritual? Maybe the room really wasn’t consecrated, and that’s why it didn’t work.

“Sam,” Dean said in irritation. Sam jumped and turned towards him, frowning.

“What?” He snapped back.

“I know what you’re think, and you didn’t do anything wrong. The ritual didn’t work because it _couldn’t_ work.” Dean hissed, feeling angry that Sam hadn’t listened to him before. 

_Jesus,_ what a waste of time.

“Dean, we can still-”

“No Sam. There’s nothing you can do.” He paused, looking away from Sam. “I think its best that I left. Cain had the right idea, living in isolation-”

“What? No! We can still find something to cure you Dean!” Sam said, reaching out to Dean, trying to catch hold of his brother before he slipped further away.

Dean turned back, face clouded with anger. “I don’t _need_ curing, Sam!” He shouted; all the irritation and fury he’d been trying to keep down over the past few days bubbling up inside him and bursting out. “You don’t understand and I don’t expect you to. Honestly Sam, it’s better for the both of us if I go.”

“I don’t want you to-”

“Sam, all of this is what _you_ wanted!” Dean threw his arms out, indicating the altar, broken trap and blood droplets on the floor. “I did this for _you_ , and it didn’t work, so let me do what _I_ want to now!” Sam backed away from Dean, fear and hurt evident in his eyes.

“What are you saying, Dean?” Sam said, voice shaking, bile rising in his throat.

“What I’m saying, _Sam,_ is that I don’t want to be cured! I feel great. I feel _so_ great! I feel free and... _invincible_.” Dean flexed his arms, a sneer spreading across his face, all teeth but no smile. “You’re seeing all this demon and mark stuff as a bad thing, but honestly I don’t think it is! I deserve this, Sam. Cain said it; he said I was worthy to bear the mark.” Dean pulled up his sleeve; the ugly scar his forearm on show.  “This is me now. And for once in my sorry existence, _I like it_.”  Sam stared at his brother, dumbfounded.  For some reason this was all sounding a bit _too_ familiar.

 

Dean sighed resignedly and yanked his sleeve back down.  “What I’m saying, Sam, is goodbye.”

And without another word Dean turned away from Sam and left.

 

 *   *   *

Sam didn’t bother going after Dean. Instead he waited until he could no longer hear the sounds of Dean’s retreating footsteps, each breaking him a little more on the inside. The final slam of the heavy door to the bunker closing shut shattered anything that had been left. 

Sam somehow made his way back to the main living part, where he and Dean had spent most of their time. All the research they had been doing over the past few days littered the long table. . Sam could hardly bare to look at it, instead glowering down at the floor as if it had done him an injustice.

Sam’s hands were still shaking as he poured himself a drink from one of the glass bottles. He drank it down in one, some of the amber liquid spilling out of his mouth and running down his chin.  He took the glass and the bottle to the table with him, slamming them both down and falling down into one of the chairs. As he swallowed the next drink he looked at the mess of papers around him.

He felt numb. _Empty_.

What was there to do now? Dean had left him. He was alone once more, with nothing and no one to share it with.

The fifth drink seemed to burn some feeling into him. He coughed from the sting of the alcohol, feeling a heat rise up inside him.

Sam suddenly stood, hands flat on the table. He observed all of their hard work they had spent hours upon _hours_ going over. Nothing; It was all for nothing. Dean didn’t even want helping.

He didn’t even _care_. Didn't care about how much Sam needed him, even though Sam would never admit it. Didn't care that they had made it this far _together_ and that Sam didn’t want to give that up now. Didn't care that he was now no longer anything Sam could recognise and call his brother.

Sam swept his hands across the table with a loud growl, sending all the papers flying and knocking his laptop off along with them, crashing down, the papers fluttering next to the splinters of plastic. He picked up his glass and hurled it across the room, feeling satisfaction as it shattered to the floor into little pieces.

It was easier to drink straight from the  bottle anyway.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam was woken early (was it early? Sam couldn’t actually tell) the next day by what sounded like the bunker being bombed. The sound reverberated through his aching skull, pulling him out of the blissful oblivion of sleep. He must have passed out on top of the table last night, as when he cracked a bleary eye open he found himself looking at the bottom of the now empty bottle of whiskey he had been drinking, and when he yawned widely one side of his face, the one he must have slept on, felt oddly numb, unlike the rest of his head that seemed to be having small pins being jabbed into it. On inspection, after peeling his face away from the table, it turned out half of his face had odd wood shaped patterns indented on it too.  
Sam sat up, his head beginning to spin, and batted some of the papers stuck to his forehead away. He sunk low in his chair, hands cradling his head in an attempt to make the room stay still. The small explosions continued to go off and after a while Sam realised that it was not in fact another world war, but someone hammering- ridiculously loudly in Sam’s opinion- on the door of the bunker.  
Sam mentally battled between wanting to just say here and die and going to get rid of the person who had apparently decided to use the door as their own personal drum kit.   
God damn, why couldn’t Dean get the door?  
Oh.  
With an unpleasant swooping feeling in his stomach Sam remembered everything that had taken place yesterday, the heat burning up his throat reminding him especially of the excessive drinking. Sam lurched out of his chair, reaching for a bin, or something, to throw up in.   
“Ughh,” Sam moaned, as he looked around for a place to try and hide the bin, before doubling over again, clutching his heaving stomach.  
“’Mm coming, shut up!” Sam said, wiping a hand across his mouth and abandoning the bin behind a small table. He was in too much pain to bother considering who could be trying to get into the bunker right now.  
Staggering to the door, clinging onto the hand rail of the stair case for support on his way over, Sam wrenched the it open. He covered his eyes as light poured in.  
“Sam?” a familiar voice asked.  
What the hell? Sam wasn’t sure who he’d been expecting to be on the doorstep, but it certainly wasn’t Cas.  
“Cas?” Sam asked queasily, wincing as he squinted at the blurry figure in front of him.   
Cas caught hold of one of Sam shoulders as he slumped against the doorframe.  
“Cas, you’re still alive?” Sam croaked.  
“Yes,” Cas answered, concern in his loud, loud voice. “But I’m not sure if the same can be said to you.”  
Sam forced a smile onto his face, closing his eyes again, “Thanks Cas. Nice to see you too.”  
“Sam, you look terrible.” Cas said bluntly, letting himself in and closing –Slamming- the door behind him.  
“’M fine, just need some water. And coffee.”  
Cas helped Sam down the stairs, abandoning him in a chair as he went to find the kitchen to make some Coffee.  
After a few minutes Cas walked back into the room, handing Sam a glass of water and a mug of slightly luke warm coffee.  
“My apologies about the coffee, I’m still not too used to using the machine you have to make them.”  
“’S fine, thanks.” Sam said, gratefully taking both, gulping down the water and swiftly moving onto the coffee, wincing at the weak flavour when Cas turned his back.  
Cas looked around the chaotic room, eyes skimming over the papers strewn across the table and down to the shards of glass and splinters of plastic littered on the floor. His eyes lingered on the empty whiskey bottle before he turned back to Sam.  
“What happened in here?” He asked in a worried tone.   
“Uhhh,” Sam couldn’t think of a good enough excuse, instead just shrugging his shoulders and giving a non committal grunt.   
“Ahh.” Cas nodded solemnly. “Don’t worry about it. I too was most distressed and angry on hearing about-” His voice caught at the back of his throat, which he cleared before continuing, “Before hearing the news.”  
“What?” Sam asked, rubbing his forehead with his the palm of his hand, not catching on with what Cas was talking about, his brain still sluggish and not up to its normal speed.   
Cas hitched in a breath, before falling into one of the chairs next to Sam.  
“Dean,” he said, looking straight in front of him.  
“Oh,” Sam said. Hang on, he thought, how could Cas know that Dean walked out?   
“Uh, Cas, what exactly was it that you heard?” Sam asked cautiously, straightening himself the best he could and facing Cas.  
Cas looked over to Sam, worry lines crinkling his forehead, eyes squinting as he tipped his head to the side, “Sam, how much have you had to drink?”  
“Just- hear me out, ok?”  
Cas stood up, all of a sudden looking irked. “Sam, if this is some kind of joke?”  
“What? No!” Sam took a deep breath, standing up, but still keeping a tight grip on the back of his chair to steady himself, “Just; what have you heard.”  
“It was Metatron. He- he told me,” Cas nostrils flared as he tried to keep a control of himself, a sickness quite different to Sam’s flooding his own stomach.  
“He told me he killed Dean.” Cas said quietly, looking down at the floor.  
Sam bit his lip.   
“Cas- Dean didn’t die.” Sam admitted, voice soft.   
Cas reeled back from Sam, as though his words had scalded him.   
“What?” He hissed, eyes narrow and scrutinising, as though he couldn’t bring himself to accept the words Sam had spoken.  
“It was the mark, it- he,” Sam tried to explain, but Cas was backing away.   
“The mark?” Cas’ eyes now widened in a horrified understanding. “No- It couldn’t- He isn’t-”  
Sam felt hot tears splash down his cheeks, not caring he was crying in front of Cas as though he was a small child, more surprised that he had any fluids left in his body to cry with. He nodded, gulping in air, voice thick as he said “It turned him into a demon.”   
Cas looked at him for a moment, watching the tears fall to the floor. He closed his eyes and turned away from Sam. Sam could see his fists clench, knuckles turning white and his shoulders hunched over like he was trying to keep something from escaping him.   
“That was just a myth! That’s what happened to Cain, yes, but not to- I knew- It couldn’t-” Cas said in panic, unable to finish what he was saying, already knowing it was pointless.  
Sam stayed silent as Cas tried to deny what he had heard.   
Cas took a deep breath; “Where-” he said in a low voice, the deadly edge of a broken man, “Where is he?”  
“He left,” Sam said, wiping tears away forcefully, pulling himself together, “yesterday. He walked out.”   
Sam saw Cas nod.   
“It was after we tried to cure him.” Sam said, fighting to stop the tears.  
“Cure?” Cas turned back to face Sam, “what happened?” he walked towards Sam, eyes searching head tipped forward in question, demanding an answer.  
“We tried the demon curing ritual, but it- it didn’t work,” Sam looked down, hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt, “Then he said he didn’t want to be cured and he left.” He finished heavily. He closed his eyes and gave a little shrug, trying not to show how much it hurt.   
“I should have come sooner,” Cas said angrily, hitting his fists against himself. “So stupid,” he growled to himself, now smacking his fist into his palm.  
“Cas, you weren’t to know,” Sam said softly.  
“I should-” Cas said through gritted teeth, “I should have known this would happen!”   
Sam shook his head, reaching out to Cas.  
“I knew that mark would change him! Why didn’t I do something?” Cas shouted, his face turning red as his anger at himself built.  
“Cas! No one could have known!” Sam shouted back, hangover forgotten, “You couldn’t have done anything; and it’s too late now, anyway.” He ended, meekly, “There’s nothing we can do.” He slumped back into the chair.   
There was a long moment of silence. It stretched out between them: Sam brooding in his chair, and Cas standing, breathing heavily. Neither looked at the other; until Cas broke the silence:  
“There might be something.”  
He said it so quietly, Sam almost missed it.  
“What? There might be something?” Sam said, jumping up from the chair yet again.   
“Might; I don’t know if it could work.”  
“What is it?” Sam pressed, not daring to hope.   
“The normal demon curing ritual wouldn’t work, because Dean is not a normal demon, but...” He trailed off, biting his lip. “I don’t want to give you false hope, Sam. It’s just a thought; this has never been done before, I’ve never even really heard anyone mention it and I’ve never read about it, but it’s all I can think of.”  
“What is it, Cas?” Sam repeated, more fervently, eyes flicking over Cas face, trying to detect any clue. If Cas didn’t explain soon Sam would have to start breaking things again.  
Cas sighed and bit his lip before continuing. “Instead of using human blood, we could try to use the grace of an angel.”  
Sam blinked, taking in what he had just said.   
“Where could we get the grace of an angel from?”  
Cas half smiled, shrugging.  
“Cas, no, we can’t-”  
“Sam, this grace is burning up inside me. It’s a ticking time bomb, and it’s going to blow soon. I’m dead either way; the least I can do is try to save Dean with it.” Cas said fiercely, adding quietly, “It’s my fault that he died in the first place.”   
Sam looked like he wanted to say something; to convince Cas against it.  
“Sam,” Cas said before he got the chance, “This is my choice. I have to do this.”  
“But if it doesn’t work-”  
“Which it probably won’t,” Cas sighed, “Well, then I’ll have died knowing I tried.”   
Sam nodded, “Ok. What do we need to do?”


	7. Chapter 7

“Now I don’t actually know how this will work _exactly_ ,” Cas began, “Or how it may differ from the original-”

“Cas, what the hell?” Sam griped, “You’re going to kill yourself on something you don’t even know how to do?”

“Sam, I would willingly die for much less, just as I know you would.” Cas pointed out.

“But-” He said loudly, before Sam could interrupt again, “I believe it will work in a similar way to the normal demon curing ritual, just with a few small changes. That will mean it still needs to be performed on consecrated grounds. Where did you perform it last time?”

“Uh, well, we actually consecrated a room in the bunker.” Sam admitted.

“Oh, may I see?” Cas asked in interest.

“Yeah sure.” Sam said, leading him down to the room.

Cas looked around at the meek furniture, the devils trap on the floor and then closed his eyes, reaching his hands out like he was trying to feel if something was there.

“Yes. Yes this will do well.” He said, a small smile playing around his lips.

“Really?” Sam asked, as he was still unsure whether he had done everything right.

“Yes. Although there are no Christians buried here, it still has a Devine presence. You did well Sam.” Cas said, open his eyes and looking around to him, giving him an appraising smile.

Cas walked over to the altar, trailing his hand across the top. “This was well loved when in use. The blessing it had upon it is still strong. A very good choice.” With a small nod, he turned back to Sam and they both left.

 *   *   *

 

“Ok,” Sam said, as they sat down at the long table, pushing off the various papers lying in front of him, Cas collecting the ones by him up and shuffling them into a neat pile.

Sam slid a fresh coffee towards Cas, blowing gently on his own that he had just made, leaving the now cold coffee Cas had given him a while before on a small table, Sam not quite having the stomach to finish it off, or even tip the contents away just yet.

 As Sam sipped on his drink he saw Cas look down at the notes he had sorted. Sam watched as Cas’ face fell as he recognised the writing, Dean’s illegible scrawl making Cas look like he’d been punched his stomach, creases forming on his forehead in worry and distress. Sam distracted himself with drinking the scalding the beverage loudly, so Cas wouldn’t think Sam saw when he traced a finger across the scribbles on the page.

Sam cleared his throat loudly, putting his mug down with a clunk, trying to remind Cas that he was still sitting here.

“So,” Sam started again, “Have we got everything we need for the ritual? Does your blood need to be purified or anything?” he asked, fingers tapping the mug in an indistinct rhythm.

“Sam, I am still an angel.” Cas said, like that would explain everything, giving Sam a look that suggested Sam had just asked one of the most obvious questions in the world.

“Okay,” Sam said rolling the word around on his tongue, not really sure if he should be feeling stupid or not. “Well, is there anything else?” He said raising his eyebrows.

Neither of them wanted to mention it. They were both thinking it, but the silence stretched between them, unbroken.

Finally, Sam asked; “How are we going to find him.”

“We don’t need to find him Sam, he is a demon. We can summon him quite easily.”  Cas stated.

“Oh, right,” Sam said, now feeling stupid for not realising this before, “Well, I’ll set that up then.” he said, feeling slightly sick at the thought of having to confront his brother again so soon.

“I can, if you don’t want to.” Cas said, sensing Sam’s discomfort.

“No, I should.” Sam said, standing. “We should probably do it down there,” Sam gestured to the room they had just come back from with his thumb.

Cas nodded, also standing and followed Sam once again to the room.

*  *   *

 

Sam crouched down to fix the pentagram he had broken before.

“Probably for the best,” he said with a small shrug, straightening up. Sam had collected all the ingredients he would need to summon Dean, placing them in the middle of the circle.

He paused for a moment, mind filling with dread before he lit the match. He watched the small flame burn slowley down the wood, leaving a chard and warped charcoal stick behind.

“ _Sam_ ,” Cas prompted.

Sam dropped the it into the bowl before the flame reached the end of the match and went out.

The bowl flamed up, the fire reducing the contents to ash in a second, and in the next, Dean was standing before them.

He looked startled, already falling into his protective battle stance, looking around him, trying to work out what had happened. His eyes landed on Sam and his thin lipped, worried expression was replaced by a snarl, eyes narrowing. He opened his mouth, about to start on Sam when Cas stepped forward.

“Dean,” He said simply, voice level and devoid of emotion.

Dean stepped back, looking confused and surprised.

“C-Cas?” He stammered.

Cas gave a curt nod, not saying anything.

“You’re alive.” Dean sounded more surprised than pleased to hear that his best friend was not, in fact, dead.

“As are you,” Cas replied, as though they were talk about nothing more serious than the weather.

“How’s that holding up for you?” Dean asked casually, apparently the mortality and lifespan of Cas not a difficult thing for him to discuss.

“It’s been easier.” Cas said, head tipping to the side, eyes flicking over Dean’s face, “How is ‘ _it’_ for you?”

Sam was feeling slightly on edge by their casual talk about life and death, not wanting to interrupt or become involved in the discussion.

“Pretty good actually,” Dean said nodding, a crude grin playing on his lips, “Not too bad at all.” He added, flexing his arms. “What brings you here?”

“You.” Cas said plainly.

Dean smirked, “Cas, you flatter me, but there’s really no need. Don’t you have a bucket list or something you want to get on with, whilst you still can?”

Sam flinched at Dean’s words, but Cas remained unperturbed.

“There is only one thing I wish to do before I die, Dean.”

“And what might that be? I hear the world’s largest ball of wool isn’t too far from here, could just be you’re kinda thing.” Dean sneered.

Sam wanted to shout at his brother, yell at him to _shut up_ , and to _stop talking like that, this is Cas, your_ friend _you’re talking about,_ but he kept his mouth firmly shut, instead curling his hands into fists and digging his nails into the palm of his hands as hard as he could.

“No Dean.” Cas said, “It is to save the soul of the righteous man I pulled from hell.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose for a moment, mouth hanging open for even less time, before he gave a non committal shrug, face souring. “I think his soul’s pretty good right now. Doesn’t need any of your saving, _thanks_.” Dean blinked before the last word, black spilling across his eyes, boring into Cas’ and his mouth forming into a snarl.

“Funny,” Cas said, his own eye’s narrowing, “There was me thinking he had no choice in this option. It is _my_ bucket list after all.” His face was set and unmoving, uncaring of Dean’s anger as it crashed out across the room, like a cliff facing a hurricane. He did not cower like Sam, when Dean spat back: “Well there was me thinking it was _my_ soul, and therefore my choice over what happens to it”

“You lost that privilege when you got that mark on your arm,” Cas replied, so much venom in his voice, even Dean looked momentarily taken aback.  

“So when I _say_ I’m going to save that soul, I will do _everything_ in my power to do so.”

The power coming from Castiel was tangible, Sam backing further away from them both as a battle of wills took place before him.

Castiel’s presence was strong, burning into the very heart of you, and Sam was sure if he still had wings that you would have been able to see them in that moment. But Dean’s anger seeped out across the room, corrupting the divine and leaving a bitter taste in your mind that was difficult to shake.

Then it stopped.

Dean crossed his arms, blinking his eyes back to their usual green and standing at ease.

“So how do you plan on doing that?” It was a question as much as a challenge.

Cas turned to face Sam, “Sam, would you care to explain?”

The attention in the room switched to Sam, who straightened up and tried to look that he hadn’t just spent the last few minutes trying to make himself seem as small and unnoticeable as possible.

He cleared his throat, stepping forward into the part of the room that was less dimly lit.

“Well,” He began, trying to make his voice sound braver and stronger than he felt.

“The theory is basically the same as the demon ritual we tried before.” Try as Sam might, he couldn’t bring himself to look his brother in his eyes, so instead addressed the space around him.

“But, instead of using my purified blood, we’ll use-” Sam looked quickly to Cas, who gave a tiny nod of encouragement, “What’s remaining of Cas’ grace.”

Dean hummed in understanding, looking back to Cas. “So what, you use up your grace and _kaboom_?”

Irritation flickered across Cas’ face for the first time since talking to Dean. “Something like that,” he retorted.

“You don’t know?” Dean inquired all too innocently.

“Not exactly.” Cas said shortly.

“Well I’m so glad you two have thought this all through.” Dean said voice heavy with sarcasm. “Wouldn’t want to go risking my life on a half-assed plan you’ve come up with _again_.”

“Dean,” Sam snapped, shocked by his sudden bravery. “It’s only Cas that’s risking anything. The worst that happens to you is you die and then come back a couple of hours later. Cas doesn’t get that option, and he’s risking it for you!”

“Well, why don’t I save you the trouble, Cas” Dean said, resentment building up once more, “You don’t bother risking your life and just _let me go_.” He spat the last three words out, getting as close to the edge of the trap as he could without being forced backwards.

Cas’ temper got the better of him, he strode over to the trap, reaching into it and catching Dean by the front of his jacket. Even though Cas was smaller than Dean, he still managed to impose himself and dominate over Dean.

“You do not leave until I let you. Now you will _stop_ resisting and let us help.” Cas pulled Dean’s face closer to his own. “I may not be able to kill you, Dean, but I can still make you _suffer_.” There was no mercy in his voice. He let go of Dean, who stumbled away from him.

Cas forced Dean down into the chair in the middle of the circle with a look, his voice dangerously low when he said, “Do not make me regret not restraining you.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Ok, Cas are you ready?” Sam asked, tightening the straps around Cas’ wrists.   
Cas and Sam had brought through the chair they had used to extract Gadreel’s grace from Sam, placing it next to the pentagram. It looked innocent like a patient’s chair at the dentist, but at the same time somehow more threatening, Sam gritting his teeth as the memories of when it was last used resurfaced.   
Cas had instructed Sam to strap down his hands; “This will hurt me Sam, and I might try to resist.”   
Sam had nodded, feeling slightly sick as he had found some rope and tied Cas hands down.  
Cas looked Sam in the eyes. “Sam, under no circumstances are you to stop until that syringe is full, do you understand?”   
Sam nodded again, eyes wide with a nervous dread.  
“No matter what I say, or how much you might want to. Promise me, Sam.”  
“I-” Sam faltered under Cas’ intense gaze.   
“Promise me.”  
“I promise Cas.” Sam said uneasily, not sure if he was comfortable with what he was promising.   
Sam picked up the syringe, turning it in his hands, remembering the pain that had accompanied it.  
“Will this hurt like it did with me?” Sam asked as he neared Cas’ head.  
“I believe it will be more painful, as an angel I rely on this grace, and it is a part of me, where as with Gadreel’s grace I was removing something that wasn’t a part of you.” Cas said, not looking at the syringe that was close to his temple.   
Sam rested the point of the needle on Castiel’s forehead.  
“Cas, I so sorry,” He said as he pushed it in.

 

Sam tried to concentrate on the bright blue white light filling the syringe and not the howls and screams of pain Castiel was emitting.  
Cas wrenched against the ties securing him to the chair, his body convulsing and eyes screwed tight shut.   
Almost there Sam thought, trying to keep the syringe steady at the same time as extracting the and trying to hold Cas’ head still.   
As soon as it was full, Sam removed the needle from Cas temple, but keeping a reassuring hand on his shoulder.  
“Cas? Cas, can you hear me?” Sam said, peering down into Cas’ face. “Cas, are you alright?”   
Cas slowly opened his eyes, keeping them narrowed and almost shut. “I am fine Sam.” Cas said, sitting up on the chair.  
“Waoh, take it easy Cas!”Sam said, lurching forward to try and keep Cas steady and he teetered, colour draining from his face.  
“I’m fine Sam, really. I just sat up too quickly.” Cas said, gently pushing Sam’s hand from his shoulder. He focused on the syringe full of his glowing grace in Sam’s other hand, “Focus on Dean right now, give him the grace.”   
Sam gave Cas one more glance over, before leaving his side to enter the pentagram and going to Dean, who had not said one word during the whole ordeal, instead staring resolutely forward.   
Without saying a word, he pushed Dean’s head, exposing his neck and injected all of the grace. He could see the glowing light enter his blood stream, still glowing briefly under his skin before dimming and fading. Dean gritted his teeth, hissing slightly in pain as the grace was injected.  
Sam frowned at him, “What is it?” He asked. Dean might be a demon, but Sam still couldn’t kick the feeling of concern whenever he saw Dean in pain.  
“It burns.” Dean said, rubbing at his neck where there was still a slight red glow.  
* * *  
By the fourth time removing Cas’ grace, Sam could tell that it was getting worse. Cas could hardly keep his head still, and began sobbing before Sam even had half a syringe full.   
“Cas, please, please keep still! It’ll be over quicker if you keep still! Please Cas!” Sam begged, hating himself for putting Cas through this. Cas’ whole body shook trying to keep his head from jerking, but he managed it.   
“It’s ok, it’s all done again.” Sam soothed, walking swiftly over to Dean to give him the grace. Dean was looking pale, his hands gripping the edge of his chair and his eyes were unfocused. Sam didn’t know whether it was from the burning grace or from having to listen to Cas scream over and over.   
He left Dean to his blank eyed staring, going back to Cas, who was lying on the chair, panting heavily.  
His eyes were closed and there was sweat glistening on his forehead.   
“Cas?” Sam asked, wondering if he had passed out.   
“This is turning out to be more painful than I previously imagined.” Cas confessed weakly.   
“It’s getting worse isn’t it?” Sam said softly.  
Cas swallowed heavily, moving his head a tiny amount in agreement.   
“Do you need-” Sam began, searching his mind for anything he could get Cas to make him feel better.  
“I think I’ll just stay here for the rest of the hour, thank you Sam.” Cas said voice hoarse from screaming.   
Sam nodded, even though Cas couldn’t see him, leaving to go outside, unable to stay in the room a moment longer.  
* * *  
By the time it came to removing the last but one injection of grace, Sam couldn’t keep Cas still enough to begin pulling the plunger up. The syringe went skittering off across the floor for the second time as Sam tried again.  
“Cas, I can’t get it if you keep moving.” Sam practically sobbed, feeling bile rising up from his stomach.  
“Dean,” He turned hopelessly to his brother, who was still sitting and staring blankly in front of him. A sheen of sweat had formed by his hairline, and after his sixth dose he had begun to shake and quiver in the chair, twitching and pale, flinching occasionally at Cas moans of agony.   
“Dean,” Sam knelt beside his brother, shaking him by the shoulders, “Dean, can you hear me? Snap out of it, I need your help! Dean, please. Cas needs your help.” Sam pleaded.   
Dean blinked, his hands stilling.  
“Cas?” He asked, finally coming back to his senses and speaking for the first time in hours.  
“Cas?” He said louder, agitated, looking around him, and trying to spot him.  
“Dean?” Sam said, despair leaving his voice. “Dean, I need your help.”  
“What is it Sam?” Dean asked, sounding more like himself than he had in days although he still remained clammy and ill looking.  
“I can’t get the grace out, Cas won’t keep still. I need you to hold his head, stop him from moving it.”   
Dean nodded, trying to get up. He staggered, unsteady on his feet.  
Sam caught him by the arm, even through the layers of clothing Dean had on Sam could feel the heat radiating from under his skin. “Come on, you can do this.” Sam encouraged.   
“Wait here,” Sam said, leaving Dean to try and balance by himself whilst he dragged the top half of the chair Cas was still laying on into the pentagram, as Dean still couldn’t get out, but no longer caring if he broke the line.   
Dean gripped hold of the chair, steadying himself, before gently placing his hands around the top of Cas’ head. Cas groaned meekly.   
Sam went to collect the syringe from across the room, not overhearing Dean lean down and whisper, “It’s ok Cas, I’m here.” He wiped the sweat from Cas’ forehead with his sleeve whilst Sam whent to collect it from the other side of the room.   
When Sam came back, Cas eye’s were still closed, but his eyebrows were closer together in determination.  
“Just two more to go and then it’ll be done,” Sam tried to reassure, but he was unsure if Cas heard him.  
* * *   
The last part of the grace was the most difficult to extract. Sam remembered the trouble Cas had had trying to get Gadreel’s from himself as the long moments ticked by and there was still not enough grace.  
Dean’s eyes were also closed as he gripped tightly onto Cas’ head; he was hardly able to keep himself up, let alone keep an angel from moving, but he stayed and held him down the best he could. Sam couldn’t hear the gently words Dean hushed Cas with whilst the latter screamed.   
His shouts were building in volume, becoming more piercing, until neither Dean nor Sam could take it anymore.  
“Dean, I can’t, I can’t do it anymore.” Sam choked. “I don’t think there’s any grace left.” Sam pulled out the syringe that had dug deep into Cas’ skull.   
Cas’ cries stopped, replace with ragged breathing and occasional sobs.   
Sam and Dean looked to the syringe, only half filled with the shimmering grace that Dean needed.   
“I don’t know if it’ll work.” Sam said, voice hushed, his words echoing around the now unnervingly quite room.   
“It will have to do.”  
Sam and Dean both looked down at Cas, who had spoken in a voice more determined than either of them could have imagined he could. He propped himself up by his elbows, face ghostly pale and sickly looking, eyes bloodshot as he swayed from side to side. “I don’t think there is much left. To get anymore would kill me before I would have chance to recite the verse.” His voice was raw and cracked at the end of each sentence.   
Cas tried to push himself up right, but his arms buckled, and he fell back down onto the chair.   
Sam winced, “Cas, I don’t think-”  
“I need to do this Sam,” Cas said, voice determined and stubborn. He took the syringe from Sam and both Dean and Sam helped him to stand.   
Dean sat back down heavily in the chair he had left, a look of relief on his face that he was no longer standing but his eyes were screwed up in pain.   
Cas steadied himself, using what seemed the last of his strength to cross the short distance between him and Dean. Sam stayed back, unsure of what was to come.   
Cas raised the needle with shaking hands, lining it up with the small wound that Sam had made previously. Dean opened his eyes, looking over at Cas without moving his head.   
“Thank you Cas.” He whispered.  
The needle sunk into his skin, the little grace in the tube being pressed into Dean. Dean’s mouth opened in a silent howl, Sam feeling the searing heat of him from all the way across the room.   
As soon as it was all gone Cas dropped the syringe on the ground. His knees buckled, unable to support him anymore and he fell down to the floor. Gripping Cas by the shoulder, Dean heaved him up so they needed up kneeling opposite one another. Dean reached to Cas pocket, extracting the knife Sam had given him and took one of Cas hands in his own. He pulled the blade sharply across Cas’ palm, his blood seeping out, but there was something else escaping Cas too. A light glowed along the line cut into his hand, shining like light does through a crack in a door into a dark room.   
Cas didn’t make a sound when Dean cut him, but looked up when Dean placed his hand on the back of Cas’ neck, cradling his head tenderly.   
“Cas, you ready?” Dean asked softly.  
Cas swallowed, nodding, blood tricking down his forehead.   
“Dean,” he croaked out, “You need to cut your palm too.” Cas gestured from his own hand to the opposite one on Dean.   
“Ok,” Dean said, letting go of Cas hand and dragging the blade across the hand Cas had indicated, not wincing or taking his eyes from Cas.   
He held the hand out to Cas.   
“Like blood brothers,” Dean said with a small smirk.  
“That means we always have to stand by each other.” Cas said looking into Dean’s eyes and returning Dean’s smile as he quoted the play.   
Dean chuckled, proud of Cas and how far he had come from being the awkward and clueless angel he had once known.   
They pressed their hands together, fingers closing and gripping tightly onto one another.  
“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Hanc animam redintegra Vitam datam per angelum, lustra! Lustra!” Cas cried out.  
A light began to build, seeping out from between their joined hands, leaking through their fingers and spreading until it enveloped both of them, blindingly bright and giving off a cold, burning heat.   
Dean could no longer see Cas’ face through the light, it blocked out everything around him and he felt a tingling sweeping up his arm from his hand, whipping away the heat and fever burning its way through his body. And then from the bright light came a sudden darkness as Dean keeled over, passing out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this chapter was a lot of fun to write, and its great to compare what I wrote to what happened in the show!


	9. Chapter 9

There was a pounding in Dean’s head.

Had he died?

No, there was too much pain for him to be dead.

His whole body ached, limbs and joints to stiff to move. It felt like he was lying on a hard surface, or at least the pain on his back was more pronounced than his front.

Dean opened his eyes, blinking away the blurriness clouding his vision.  He groaned as he lifted his head to look around.

“Dean?” In a second Sam was kneeling beside him, face stricken with worry. “Are you alright?”

Dean grunted in reply, trying to push himself up.  Sam warily watched him, not sure whether Dean would want help or not. It was then that Dean realised that he was holding something in one of his hands. He looked down, realising he was still clutching hold of Cas’ hand.

“Cas?” Dean said, suddenly panicking and scrambling up so he was kneeling over Cas’ body splayed out on the floor, still keeping a tight grip on Cas’ hand. Dean placed a trembling hand on Cas forehead. It was clammy from sweat, but worryingly cold. He slid his hand down to Castiel’s throat, trying to find a pulse, even a tiny flutter that would indicate that Cas was still alive.

“Cas?” Dean said again, but quieter this time. He looked over his shoulder at Sam, who was still crouching behind him, and was watching Dean with round and desperately questioning eyes.

“Sam, what happened?” He asked, voice thick with fear.  

Sam moved forward, so he was kneeling next to Dean. “I don’t know Dean. After Cas said the incantation this light just spread out from between you.”

Dean nodded, remembering the light. “And it was so bright- and hot-” Sam gestured to the room where there were singe marks on the chair closest to where Dean and Cas had been sitting, and black scorch marks of the floor around them that formed a circle pattern, with Dean and Cas in the centre of it. Dean felt a wave of guilt when he saw on the irritated red skin on the arm Sam gestured with, clearly held in front of his face to try and protect himself from the heat.

 “The light sort of enveloped you, and I couldn’t see anything. Then I think I must have passed out, because when I came to the light was gone and you were both lying on the floor. I tried to wake you both, but I couldn’t,” Sam said, looking pleadingly to Dean, trying to get him to understand that he had tried everything he could. “So I just had to wait.”

Dean nodded, “It’s ok Sam, I understand,” he said reassuringly, trying to sooth his brother, his fearful and afraid face reminding Dean of him from when he had been a young boy, the look one Sam used to wear when he asked Dean where there dad was after each evening when they hadn’t heard from him in weeks.  Dean felt just as helpless and useless as he had felt back then, unable to provide any answers for their father’s absence and whether he was alive then; and unable to say the same for Cas now. 

“We should take him out of here,” Dean said, trying to take the lead in the situation, “Put him somewhere more comfortable.”

Sam nodded, standing and helping Dean carry him. Dean’s room was nearest, so the brothers carried their friend and lay him carefully on the bed. Sam felt sick at having to lay another person he loved and had lost down on this bed. Dean and Sam stood at the end of the bed, watching the form of Castiel, the fallen angel that had given literally everything for them time and time again.

After a long time, Dean pulled himself away from the haunting sight in front of him. He swallowed heavily.

“You- you should get some rest, Sam.” He said, eyes downcast, not thinking he had the strength to face his brother at the moment.

“Dean-”

“I’m fine Sam,” he lied, “But you’re exhausted, you need to try and sleep.”

“You should too,” Sam insisted, “You’ve just been through a really rough process; you need to give yourself time to get over it.”

Dean looked over to Sam, remembering for the first time since he woke up what it had all been for, the fact that Cas was gone had completely wiped everything else from his mind. He looked down at his hands, as if expecting himself to somehow look different after.

“Did it- Did it work?” Dean asked, not knowing himself or expecting Sam to truly know the answer either.

So he was taken aback when Sam simply replied “Yes.”

“How can you know?” Dean asked, needing to be sure.

“When you saw Cas- the look on your face Dean,” Sam said, turning to face him, a distressed expression on his face at the memory, “You couldn’t have looked like that if you were still a demon. That was all you Dean.”

Dean tried to say something to Sam, but his voice was too thick, so instead he just nodded, feeling overwhelmed.

For something to do Dean rolled up his sleeve to expose his forearm that had the mark on. He looked down at the scar; it was no longer an angry red burn on his arm, but the dull white of almost healed skin after a deep wound.

   “Do you think it will ever fade?” Sam asked as Dean traced a finger over the puckered skin.

“I don’t know.” Dean replied quietly. He slid his sleeve back over his arm, covering it from view.

Sam slipped quietly out of the room, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts. He pushed his desk chair over to the side of the bed, like Sam had done when he came to talk to Dean. He sat down in it awkwardly. Know he was sitting here he wasn’t sure what to do. For a while he fidgeted, not looking at Cas, occupied instead with watching his hands as his knee twitched.

He had to say it, even if it was too late. Dean couldn’t quite force himself to look at Cas, so instead addressed his knees.

“I’m sorry Cas. Not just for all those things I said when I was... You know, but... But before that too. For pretty much all the shit I’ve ever caused you.” He tore his eyes away from his knees, looking over to Cas’ blank face. “I’m even sorry you had to drag my sorry ass out hell... I pretty much ruined everything for you from that point onwards.” He huffed out a small laugh. “I suppose that’s one thing us Winchesters are quite good at- royally screwing up the lives of everyone that’s ever had the shit luck to meet us.”

Dean watched Cas for a moment, before reaching out and taking Cas’ hand in both of his. He held onto tightly, glad that no one was around to see this.

“But I suppose,” He made himself say out loud, “I’m not sorry I met you. That’s probably one of the only good things that’s ever happened in my shitty excuse for a life. I couldn’t have done half of any of the decent stuff I ever did without you. I might have dragged your ass down, but you sure as hell raised mine up- on more than one occasion. So I’m sorry, ok. But also I’m not... If you get what I’m trying to say.”   Dean shook his head, he wasn’t good at this kind of crap, but he knew he had to say it. He just wished he got the chance when Cas was still alive. Dean felt a tear leak from his eye and trickle down his cheek. His voice became thick, tongue unwilling to say the last few words that he needed to get out.

“Thank you Cas, for everything. But mostly... Thank you for thinking my life was important enough-” Dean felt a sob leave his mouth before he could say the last words, but he carried on as the tears started to fall in earnest, “Thank you for believing I was important enough to save. I ain’t got much in the world Cas, but I’d give it all for you. You were one of the few that always had faith in me, even though it was difficult at times; and- and, I don’t have faith in many things, you know that, but it was only ever in you, and it will always be in _you_. I’ll never lose faith again, I promise, Cas. I swear I’ll always remember what you did.” Dean couldn’t go on, his shoulders shaking with the sobs raking his whole body. He broke down, burying his face in the crook of his arm, the tears soaking his jacket sleeve. He clutched Cas hand, holding onto it tightly, like it was his lifeline, the only thing stopping him falling into the pit of despair he teetered on the edge of.

Dean’s breathing haltingly eased up; he no longer took great gulps of air and soon after his tears only splashed down his face occasionally instead of a steady stream. Dean stayed leaning on the bed, his face turned towards Cas and slowly drifted off into a light and uneasy doze.  

Dean was gradually pulled from his sleep, unsure at first what had woken him. He sat up, wiping a hand down his tear streaked face.

And then Castiel’s fingers twitched in his hand. Dean suddenly felt wide awake, head snapping down and eyes searching for any other signs of life.

 The fingers Dean was still clinging to felt warm in his grip.

“Cas?” Dean asked, breath catching as he tried not to work himself up over nothing. Cas’ eyelids flickered, but his eyes remained closed.

“Cas?” Dean said louder, one hand searching along his neck for a pulse, the other on Cas’ chest trying to see if he was breathing.

Dean pressed his fingers harder against Cas neck, begging, hoping, praying there would be something there.

Dean felt two tiny pulses against his fingers and then another. Dean was almost sick when he felt them, taking deep steadying breaths.

“Sam!” He shouted out the door, “Sam!”

He heard Sam’s running footsteps getting closer as he sank back down into his chair, his arms shaking as he searched for Cas hand again, clasping it tightly, feeling the little flickers of life beneath the skin.

Sam burst into the room, panting and hair dishevelled. “What- What is it?” he asked nervously between gulps of air.

“Cas, I- I think he might be alive!” Dean said, so much hope in his eyes.

“What?” Sam rushed to Cas other side, “But- But, oh my god, Cas?” Sam’s eyes searched desperately over him, looking for signs of life.

Cas’ eyelids flickered again, and this time he let out a small groan.

“Cas!” Sam and Dean shouted in unison, both leaning closer.

Cas eyes opened and he squinted out at them both. Sam gave a great woop of delight and Dean clutched Cas’ hand closer to his chest. Dean fought back tears of joy as Cas unsteadily pushed himself up with his one free hand.

Sam leaned back against a wall, placing a shaking hand over his eyes as his gave out a laugh. 

Dean bit his lip and then abandoned his chair, pulling Cas into a tight hug, wrapping his arms all the way around Cas’ frame and holding on to him firmly. Cas grunted slightly, the hug slightly to constricting to be considered comfortable, but raised his arms and clung onto Dean the best he could. Dean started quaking in Cas arms, unable to hold back his tears any longer. He pressed his face into Cas’ neck as Cas murmured to him gently, rubbing one hand on his back comfortingly and the other cradling the back of Dean’s head.

“Cas, I-” Dean gulped, but Cas cut him off.

“It’s ok, I heard you prayer.” He whispered quietly so only Dean could hear. His hands fisted into Dean’s jacket as he said this, pulling him even closer. “Thank you Dean.”

When Dean managed to get his tears under control again he pulled back from Cas, but remained close, kneeling at the edge of the bed. Dean held onto Cas hands again, their hands joined unshakably tightly.

Dean turned to see Sam had fallen into Dean’s abandoned chair, his eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply, trying to stop the tremors in his hands.

He opened his eyes, his relief shining brightly. “Cas, you had us worried there,” he said in a shaky voice.

Cas smiled, his eyes bright, but weary. “I am surprised; I didn’t think I would survive.”

“Don’t say that,” Dean said softly. “You’re alive, that’s what matters.”

Cas eyes rounded as he looked down at Dean who was gazing up at him in turn.

“You’re cured,” Cas said, “and that’s what matters.” He disentangled one hand from Dean’s grip and gently brushed his palm down Dean’s cheek, wiping away a few stray tears.

Sam smiled at them both, his heart swelling to see his brother not holding back from something that would make him so happy, from something he deserved beyond anything else. He excused himself quietly, leaving them alone.  Maybe he would head out of the bunker for a while. They were out of beer anyway, and he definitely felt like he needed one.

 *    *    *    *

Cas’ eyes were heavy, Dean carefully pushed him back down onto the pillows, pulling the cover out from underneath him and tucking them around Cas. He stood by him for a moment, unsure of what to do, but Cas had caught him by the hand and tugged on his arm, pulling him down onto the bed with him. Dean shrugged off his jacket and settled down under the covers, close to Cas, their fingers entwined.

They lay peacefully for a long time, before Dean spoke.

“Cas?” he said quietly.

“Hmm?” Cas hummed in reply, drifting in and out of consciousness.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Dean’s voice was low, like he was telling Cas a secret.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said, wrapping an arm around Dean’s shoulder and gathering him closer.

“It’s ok,” Dean said, swallowing. “But- I just thought I was never going to get a chance to tell you. I’m sorry I didn’t realise sooner, but,” he struggled to get the words out, but Cas found he didn’t need to hear them. He already knew.

“Me too.” Cas said to Dean. He stroked Dean’s jaw with the tips of his finger, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I always have and I always will.”

They fell asleep tangled in one another’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok y'all the next chapter is the last one! Oh boy did I have fun writing it, and it will be uploaded soon...


	10. Chapter 10

Cas spent most of the next few days sleeping, Dean joining him in the evenings and staying with him until late in the morning the following day.

Occasionally Cas woke, and they sat and talked quietly to one another before lulling back into a slumber, relaxed by one another’s presence.

Dean brought him in food when he was more wakeful, no matter what time of day it was, after realising Castiel need to eat following a bout of dizzy spells and headaches.

It was becoming more apparent each day that Castiel was no longer an angel, all the grace he had had left was burnt up when curing Dean. The shock was not as bad as it was last time, and Dean enjoyed making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for him to eat and making sure he was comfortable.

When Cas felt strong enough to venture out of bed, he went and sat with Sam and Dean in the rest of the bunker. Both had decided they weren’t going to leave for Cas for anything other than supply runs, one of them, usually Dean, still remaining with him when the other went out.

“When you’re stronger,” Dean had promised, “We’ll go out. Take you some place nice. But _no_ hunting.” Dean had insisted this last part.

“I was perfectly capable to hunt the last time I was a human, Dean.” Cas had pointed out.

“No.” Dean had said flatly. “No way in hell.”

One afternoon, Sam had decided to ask, “Cas, what will the angels do without you?”

Cas thought for a moment. “I don’t know, Sam.” He had replied. “I hope they will have learnt to work together instead of following a leader. But I think they’ll be alright. It might take time, but they should figure it out. There’s so few left now, they’ll have to find their way together and rely on one another. And I think I don’t think I could have taught them how to do that.” He had smiled softly, loss but no regret in his eyes. “I think that’ll be better for them.”

They didn’t mention the angels again.

And that’s how their life carried on. When Dean felt comfortable leaving Cas on his own for a few days, he and Sam went on a few small hunts, but even that wasn’t very often, and soon they stopped altogether, Sam instead letting hunters know of anything he thought cold be a case and letting them deal with it.

 Most of their time they spent digging through the old documents and artefacts and watching the old film reels they found deep in the various libraries and chambers of the bunker. They filed and translated, re writing old notes and learnt all the men of letters had to teach. Sam backed up all the information, coming up with a system to order all the research and store it online as well as easier to track down all the record on the bunker. The work wasn’t dull or boring, but was interesting enough to keep them occupied for days on end, providing new information to any hunters that needed to know anything about all the creatures and monsters out there.

Dean stayed true to his word. One day he decided Cas needed to take a trip out of the bunker, thinking he they all needed a break from all the rooting through all the place had to hold.

They drove until Dean decided to stop. He had found a nature park and thought that Cas would like it. Large fields of grass, bordered with every kind of plant that could be grown there and benches where happy people sat and enjoyed the scenery.

Sam had wondered off under the pretence of chatting up the cute girl working behind the counter of the cafe, but Dean knew it was to give them some time alone.

He linked his hand with Cas, winding  their fingers together.

“How’re you holding up, Cas?” He asked casually.

“I’m fine Dean, you know I am recovering well.” Cas said, missing the obvious question lying beneath.

Dean tried again, “I mean with being human and... not being able to go back to the angels and everything.”

“Oh.” Cas was silent for a moment, and then said something Dean was not expecting. “I love it, Dean.”

“Huh?”

“Being a human, before, was more difficult. I was all alone and I didn’t know what I was doing. But now I have you and Sam helping me, and I have learnt from last time. I wouldn’t want it any different.” He said turning to Dean and taking Dean’s other hand in his own.

“And the angels?” Dean had asked to be sure.

Cas tipped his head to the side for a moment, considering. “I would have liked to have helped them more before I left, but I have no regrets.” He said honestly.

Cas slid his hands up Dean’s arms, resting them on Dean’s shoulders. Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’ lower back and they pressed close to one another.

“I’m so happy living with you and Sam,” Cas reassured, knowing that Dean wouldn’t be convinced until he had spelt it out for him. “I don’t want to ever leave.”

“You won’t have to,” Dean said, a grin breaking across his face. He tipped his head down, capturing Cas’ lips with his own for a soft kiss. He leaned his forehead on Cas’, “Never again, I won’t let you. You’re going to have to stay with me until we’re both old, grey and flatulent.” Cas huffed a laugh, “And that’s a promise.” Dean kissed Cas again, firmer this time.

“I can’t wait,” Cas murmured between kisses, hands winding behind Dean’s neck and pulling him closer so their kiss was harder and hotter, “I can’t wait to grow old with you.” He said softly into Dean’s ear as Dean kissed along his neck. “Because I can now; and because I love you, Dean, and I will spend every day I have as a human with you.”

 

 *  *  *

Dean showed Cas how much his words meant to him later that night after they got back. He pulled him down onto their bed (Dean thought how strange it was to think of it as that, even though that was what it was), pushing Cas borrowed t-shirt over his head.

“We gotta get you some new clothes,” He said between kissed littered down Cas’ chest.

“But I like wearing your clothes,” Cas confessed, feeling Dean’s smile as he continued to kiss Cas.

“I suppose I can live with that,” Dean said, unbuckling Cas’ belt. Before Dean could tug Cas’ jeans half way down his legs Cas had grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into a deep kiss. Cas licked around Dean’s open mouth, moaning into it, making Dean’s arms give way and he collapsed onto Cas. They both laughed as Cas gave out a little ‘uff’ when Dean landed on top of him. Cas kicked his pants the rest of the way down his legs and then wrapped them around Dean’s waste, tugging Dean’s own shirt over his head and running his hands over Dean’s now bare back.  He let out another moan when Dean bit down on his collar bone, leaving his own beautiful mark there. Cas sighed happily into Deans shoulder as Dean hooked a finger into Cas’ boxers and pulled them down, Cas having to momentarily unwrap his legs from around Dean to let him. They returned moments later, another moan escaping his lips, this one louder and more needy. Dean loved the every noise Cas made, from his breathy panting to whiny moans and pleasured grunts. Each one drove him crazy, making him want to make Cas let out more and louder sounds.

They rolled around on the bed for a minute as Dean tried to work his way out of his jeans and boxers whilst Cas selfishly distracted him with those gorgeous, plush pink lips of his.

Dean growled when they were finally off, every sense tingling and on fire as he pushed himself against Cas. Cas pushed back against him, the friction delicious, both craving more.

“Dean,” Cas said, already out of breath. “I- I,” he stammered, quivering all over from lust, “I want you to- to do it tonight.”

They had not yet taken that final step with one another, always dancing around the edges but not yet taking that plunge.

“Are you sure, Cas?” Dean asked, wanting Cas to be absolutely certain that he was ready, and Dean would not rush him into something he wasn’t prepared for.

Cas nodded, looking up imploringly at him; “please Dean,” He practically begged.

Dean grinned, hands sliding down Cas’ chest and ducked his head to leave a trail of kisses down Cas’ thighs. “Wait here,” Dean instructed, going to fetch a small bottle of clear liquid from a draw in his desk.

When he returned he stroked gently along the inside of Cas’ thighs, making him spread his legs. Cas’ cock twitched in anticipation, a bead of liquid forming at the tip.

“If this hurts too much, tell me immediately.” Dean instructed, looking seriously into Cas’ eyes. “Understand.” Cas nodded, swallowing in nervous excitement.

Dean linked his fingers with Cas’ with one hand and with the other he hitched one of Cas’ legs over his shoulder. He handed the bottle to Cas, who obediently poured a liberal amount of the lubricant onto Dean’s hands and worked it all over, slicking up his fingers in such an innocently obscene way that Dean’s eyes hungrily watched Cas’ progress. When they were done to Dean’s satisfaction he carefully lined them up.

“Ready?” He checked once more. Cas nodded, closing his eyes and laying his head back onto the pillows. His grip on Dean’s hand tightened a tiny amount as Dean pressed his first finger in.

Cas let out a small gasp, Dean looking up in worry. “Surprisingly cold,” Cas explained with a shaky laugh.

Dean worked slowly, adding another finger when he felt Cas was ready. With the addition of the second finger Dean could feel Cas’ palm becoming sweaty. When the beginning tightness diminished Cas began pushing back against Dean’s fingers, his head tossing on the pillow, a breathy moan escaping him.

With a small twitch of his fingers Dean had Cas letting out a stream of profanities Dean never thought he’d hear from him.

By the third finger Cas’ whole body was covered in sweat and the sounds he was making made Dean uncomfortably hard.

“Please Dean,” Cas begged, “I’m good, _please_!”

Dean felt his own patience cracking, decided Cas was ready and after adding a considerable amount of lube, lined himself up and began pushing in slowly.

They both let out loud cries of pleasure as Dean pushed all the way in.

“D-Dean!” Cas stammered eyes wide.

Dean growled back, sweat braking out on his forehead as he held himself back from thrusting hard into Cas. Instead he pulled back gently and then pressed forwards into Cas again. Dean began to build a steady rhythm that had Cas shouting Dean’s name out in delight over and over again and Dean swearing in between grunts and groans. Cas began to push down onto Dean, until Dean fell back onto the bed and watched with lust blown eyes as Cas rode him; head thrown back and hands entwined in Dean’s hair.

“S-so close Cas,” Dean managed to force, reaching up to cup Cas’ face in his hands. Cas placed his own hands on top of Dean’s, their eyes locking.

“Together.”

With that single word Cas and Dean both gave cries of each other’s names and fell through their pleasure filled oblivion, clinging hold to the only stable thing in their mess of joy.

They both fell panting back onto the bed, facing one another. Dean ran a hand through Cas’ messy hair, damp from sweat. Cas hummed in happiness, his own hand stroking down the contours of Dean’s face.

Dean looked into Cas’ blue eyes for a long time. “What would I have done without you?” he said softly, eyes gazing at Cas, taking in every tiny detail on his face.

“You have me, so it doesn’t matter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooh! That's all folk, hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing!   
> This was all written pre beginning of season 10 so its been interesting see how some of my predictions compared with the show!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you like the chapter! ad the idea for this story for a while now and I've really enjoyed writing it, so I hope you enjoy reading it!  
> All comments and reviews will be insanely appreciated  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
